


The Art of Grieving

by hautecontre



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, POV First Person, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 17:18:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16644470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hautecontre/pseuds/hautecontre
Summary: Percival understands better than most why Merlin never came back to Camelot after Arthur's death.





	The Art of Grieving

I survived Cenred’s army attacking and destroying my village only because I wasn’t there. I had taken the village’s cattle to market a few towns over the day they came through. I don’t think there’s much more I could have done to stop them—it looks like there were just too many of them. I would have been just more one corpse left behind in their wake.

The day I returned was the worst day of my life. Digging the graves of your parents, of your brothers and sisters, of your nephews and nieces, is a horror I couldn’t wish on anyone else. But that was still not nearly so bad as having to create a pyre for the rest of the village—there were just too many of them, and I’d never have been able to get them underground before they began to spread disease and cause problems for neighboring villages. And it wouldn’t have been fair to the spirits of those left behind like that. They didn’t do anything to deserve their fate; they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Why am I telling you this? Because I understand what it means to grieve those you’ve lost. And if you’re going to understand why Merlin left and never returned to Camelot after Arthur died, you’ll need to know what grief and guilt really are.

That day, it wasn’t just Merlin saying goodbye to Arthur. Morgana killed my best friend, Gwaine, and I had him in my arms as he died. It was almost as awful to lose him as it did my family. Perhaps I should have done more to stop Gwaine from going after Morgana just to settle a score; his wildness and impetuousness were part of his charm, but it was always what got him into trouble. If I had just been a bit more careful and weary, perhaps I could have saved his life. Maybe we wouldn’t have been captured, and could have reached Merlin and Arthur and offered them assistance instead of leading Morgana to them. I don’t know if I actually helped cause Arthur’s death but there are certainly nights where I can’t sleep because of it.

But Gwaine’s death did change things—at least for me. I couldn’t be witness to more death and destruction because of hatred and revenge. The thrill of battle and the lust for victory died for me along with Gwaine and Arthur. Some scars just don’t heal. Of course, I was still a knight of Camelot and owed my allegiance and service to the Queen. But she understood—maybe not as much as Merlin might have, but still she felt the loss of her friends and loves like everyone else. So it was agreed that I would help in the training of new knights but, like Leon, my days of fighting in the field were over.

It was a surprise to both of us that we should survive the carnage when so many of our friends were nowhere near so lucky. It brought us together as friends—how could it not, when we were the only ones who had been there through all of it? It was a lot easier to spend a night in the tavern, quietly drinking and getting lost in our own memories when we were with someone who didn’t need to be told what the other was thinking. If some of those of nights ended with us fumbling together in the dark and ending up in the same bed in the morning, that wasn’t anyone else’s concern. No one was going to bother two of Camelot’s most famous knights. So it also didn’t surprise anyone that eventually we chose to get nearby lodgings and somehow spent a lot more time in each other’s company than before. At least not until Leon got sick a few years ago and then one morning just never woke up. For me, it was another part of my life torn away to be buried underground with all of the other memories and ghosts of my past.

But at least I had someone to turn to. Merlin? He wasn’t so lucky.

You see, Merlin made one big mistake. He made Arthur his entire world. Everything revolved around what would help Arthur. If it meant giving up his life, I know he would have done it in a heartbeat. But the problem was that Arthur had practically done the same thing. We all knew that Arthur had been willing to abandon the quest to stop the Dorocha when Merlin ran into them, and all of us had learned about the Labyrinth and how each had been willing to sacrifice themselves for the other.

On the other hand, you didn’t need to hear the stories to know how they felt about it each other. You just needed to watch them. They were not king and servant. They were not friends. They couldn’t be either of those. They were far too close and they needed each other far more than any normal relationship would permit. Not even being married would bring two people as close as they were. It was as if they were one soul split between two bodies. If they weren’t together, it was as if they weren’t whole.

So when Arthur died, there was nothing left in Camelot for Merlin. How could he possibly return to a city where literally everything would be a living reminder of the man who defined Merlin’s entire existence? And given Merlin’s power, he could have torn Camelot apart in his grief.

Oh wait, you didn’t think I knew about Merlin? It wasn’t hard to figure out, actually. He never said anything about it, but there was just no way that Merlin could do everything he did without unnatural assistance. No one could be expected to get into as many scrapes and situations as Merlin did and walk away unscratched so often unless he had skills that weren’t allowed in Camelot. Summoning a dragon? That wasn’t likely for someone who didn’t have magical ability. And yes, there was definitely a dragon around the spot where Arthur died. The ground near where I found Arthur’s ring had been disturbed by something huge. And I may not be the world’s greatest tracker, but I’m not blind or deaf, either. When Arthur died, Merlin’s cries were beyond this world—I heard them from miles away. And I know what I saw after those cries. There are only so many creatures with a hundred-foot wingspan that you’ll ever see in the sky. So not only was Merlin magical, but he was powerful to boot.

(And don’t get me started about the whole Dragoon episode. Merlin may have pretended to be an old man, but underneath the long beard and mean attitude was a man who had Merlin’s eyes.)

So this all meant Merlin just couldn’t come back after he sent Arthur to Avalon. But he was also always fundamentally a good person, so I’m sure he knew he wouldn’t be able to return to us. It wouldn’t have been fair to him to have to live with us when we couldn’t give him what we needed, and after Morgana nearly brought Camelot down, he knew what might happen if he did. So it was his last act of mercy to those he cared about to stay away. I doubt it would have been his choice, but it was what he had to do just to survive.

While I wish I could have said goodbye, it wasn’t to be. But I hope he has been able to experience happiness again—after all he has done for all of us, it’s the least he deserves.


End file.
